


The Next Hundred Years

by Llwyden ferch Gyfrinach (Llwyden)



Category: Brigadoon (1954)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Future Fic, Gen, Post-Canon, making amends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28181406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llwyden/pseuds/Llwyden%20ferch%20Gyfrinach
Summary: The next morning in Brigadoon, there are plans to be made and futures to plan for. And Jeff has a few last cards to play.
Relationships: Tommy Albright/Fiona Campbell
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	The Next Hundred Years

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rabidsamfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidsamfan/gifts).



> Thank you for the prompt, Rabidsamfan; I hope you enjoy this!
> 
> Many thanks to my beta, Embraidery; any mistakes remaining are purely my own.

His first night as a resident of Brigadoon, Tommy sleeps in the main room; Fiona's family is old-fashioned like that (of course they are). He wonders if he'll feel the years slipping past, hear those voices Mr. Lundie mentioned. He wonders if he'll hear Jeff. The thoughts drift away as his head hits his borrowed pillow.

He wakes, and it takes a moment for him to remember where he is. The why follows immediately after, and he's smiling before he even sits up. One of Fiona's sisters is sitting in a chair nearby, knitting and stealing glances at him. He nods to her, embarrassed he can't remember her name. "Good morning."

"Good day, Mr. Albright. Can I get you breakfast?"

"Oh, that'd be nice, thank you."

She heads to the hearth, and he stands and stretches, straightens his clothes. He'll probably need to get local clothes; this suit's nice, but he doesn't want to wear it every day.

(He'll need someplace to live, too. Something to do - does he have any skills of use to Brigadoon? He has nothing to his name here. Love makes anything possible, but there are so many day-to-day things to work out. Century-to-century things.)

He has so many questions, so many things still to work out, but he doesn't think he's ever been happier.

Breakfast, it turns out, is oatmeal, or something similar. It's far from what he'd normally eat, but it's oddly comforting, much like the rest of Brigadoon.

Fiona comes back from the market as he finishes up, and her smile lights up the room. "Tommy. How are you this morning?"

"Better now," he tells her, smiling and drawing her into a kiss.

"Right, you two." Fiona's father bustles in. "None of that right now. We've much to do. Fiona, go help Nessa with the bedding, there's a girl. Mr. Albright, come with me if you would."

"Tommy, please, Mr. Campbell."

"Right, and I'm Andrew, then. Come along."

He's insistent, and Tommy throws Fiona a bemused glance as he follows him.

When they're out of the house, Andrew throws a worried glance toward the door, then nods toward the town. "And our first bit of business is unpleasantness, I'm sorry to say. I know your intentions toward my Fiona, but there's a funeral to handle before any weddings."

"Harry Beaton." Tommy looks down, sobered.

"Aye." Andrew nods sadly. "We must tell the others, and take care of the poor lad as best we can. His father is waiting for those of us that know."

Archie Beaton looks worn down and older, as if the passing century has left more of a mark on him than the rest of them. He lets them in and they find Mr. Lundie already there, along with Mr. McIntosh and another man Lundie introduces as Angus.

Harry's body is laid out on the table, cleaned and nicely dressed. He looks almost peaceful now, the head wound barely noticeable in his dark curls.

Another knock at the door, and Archie opens it. "Ah, Charlie, what are you here for, lad? You should be enjoying your honeymoon."

Charlie nods respectfully to him. "And I will, just as soon as we're done here." He nods to the rest of them. "Truth be told, I can't help but feel a little responsible, for all I know it's not my doing."

Archie sighs sadly. "No, lad, it's not your fault. Not for loving Jean or hers for loving you. Nor Mr. Forsythe's for granting us the miracle. My Harry brought this on himself, he did."

Tommy takes a deep breath. "No, I'm afraid the fault lies with my friend Jeff."

They all look at him, startled. Tommy focuses on Harry's body. The truth can't hurt Jeff, but this is his place now, and he'll have to live with these men. He selfishly hopes this won't tarnish him in their eyes, but they deserve the truth.

"Jeff was drinking and hunting last..." Month? Century? "...night. He fired at what he thought was a grouse, but it turned out he hit Harry."

The men are silent until Archie sucks in a breath.

"I'm sorry," Tommy says, looking up at him. "I found out after you'd brought him back."

Mr. Lundie eyes him cannily. "That was why you changed your mind, wasn't it? About staying."

Tommy shrugs. "Partly, I suppose. I was afraid. And my friend was in pain and he needed me."

"Oh, Mr. Albright." Archie wipes his eyes and shakes his head. "You shouldn't've put off your love because of my boy. No more could Charlie." He smiles sadly at Charlie. "I appreciate your telling me the truth of it, but my Harry meant to end us all in his pain. Whatever the accident that stopped him, his pain is over now, and Brigadoon is safe."

Angus squeezes Archie's shoulder and Archie pats his hand.

"What would you like to tell the others, then?" Mr. Lundie asks.

"My Harry was felled in an accident," Archie says. "That's true enough, and all they need to know."

There's another knock, and two more men file in. One of them takes his hat off and gives Archie a little bow. "I've got the wood for the casket, Mr. Beaton. And Sean here is ready to set off as bell-man when you need him."

Archie straightens a bit and nods. "Best get to it, then," he tells Sean. "Thank you, lad."

Sean bows solemnly and backs out of the cottage, and the other man steps up, looking over Harry. "How long will you want the wake, Mr. Beaton?"

Archie firms his lips. "We'll make it a day; that's enough time for sorrow. I'll not ask anyone else to sit up with him but me."

"You know we'll do it," Mr. Lundie tells him, but Archie shakes his head.

"Aye, you would, but I won't have it. One wedding just gone and another to come. Harry's done enough damage, I won't have him marring our joy more than necessary."

"So long as you're sure," Mr. Lundie says.

"I'm sure," Archie says firmly.

The new arrival looks between the two of them, then nods to Archie again. "I'll have the casket ready as soon as I can, then."

"Thank you kindly, Seamus," Archie says.

"We should bring him down to the pub," Mr. Lundie suggests. "There's no sense the whole village tramping through your home."

In the end, Archie won't have any help carrying Harry, but they accompany him anyway. In the distance, Tommy can hear a bell ringing as Sean tells everybody the news. By the time they arrive at the pub, a small crowd is beginning to follow them, and more people are waiting there.

The wake is somewhere between somber and festive, everyone aware what they've lost and what they almost lost. The stories of Harry as a youngster and as a happy young man come slowly at first, but they do come. The food and drink flow freely and help the atmosphere. Fiona sits by him, murmuring explanations for some of the stories, but telling none of her own. He guesses Jean's family wouldn't have many.

While the door opens and closes all morning, there’s something different about the way it opens a few hours later. Tommy hears and feels it in the hushed whispers and the quiet that comes over the room in a wave.

Standing in the door is a woman probably a little older than him, with short brown hair and a smart look on her face, wearing a rough leather jacket, a shirt with strange pictures on it, and denim jeans. She looks around at them in a kind of bemused awe before seeing Tommy. She takes a step forward and looks him over.

"Are you Tommy Albright?"

Tommy blinks. "I...yes. How...?"

She smiles. "I've seen pictures of you. And you're the only one dressed like 1950 instead of 1750." She comes over and holds out her hand. "I was told to find you today. My name's Shannon Garcia. Jeff Douglas was my grandfather."

He takes her hand automatically before the rest of her words hit home. "Jeff's… granddaughter?"

"Hard to believe it's really been a century?" she asks.

It is. But that's something he doesn't want to think too hard about right now, so, "Hard to believe Jeff would marry. Or that anyone would marry Jeff. Oh, uh...no offense to your grandmother."

Shannon grins. "None taken. Grandma was a spitfire."

Slowly the others shake off their shock at yet another stranger. "Come, lass," Mr. Cameron, the brewmaster, says. "Have a seat, then."

"Thanks," she says. She swings down the strange, geometric backpack she's been wearing and sits in the chair he's pulled out. Mr. McIntosh sets a cup in front of her. "Thanks again."

"You're Mr. Douglas's, then?" Mr. Lundie asks. "The one that was here only yesterday?"

"His granddaughter," Shannon confirms. "He died years ago, but he told me stories when I was little. Some he probably shouldn't have told a five-year-old, but stories about this place, too." She digs into her bag. "He said that on this day you'd be back, and I or my mom or my kid should come here, and I have letters to deliver."

She pulls out not letters but two packages, wrapped in well-aged paper and a strange, crinkly, shiny covering. She looks at them and passes one to Tommy; it's got his name on it with handwriting that looks like it could be Jeff's. She looks around. "The other one is for a Mr. Beaton."

Archie blinks. "That would be me."

She gets up, looks bemused as everyone near her stands politely, too, and hands it to him. He runs his hands over the odd covering, before prodding a seam on one side until it opens. A paper package with a letter taped to the slide slides out. He pokes curiously at the tape, too, before carefully peeling off the folded paper and opening it.

He puts a hand to his mouth as he reads it, tears slipping down his face. Angus puts an arm around him until he's done; then Archie wipes his eyes and hands the letter to him. Archie looks over at Shannon and nods. "Your grandfather had a good heart, whatever he said about himself. Have a drink at his grave for me, will you? Some of that bourbon he mentions, maybe. If that's a thing you do."

Shannon nods back. "If you like."

"Will you open yours, Tommy?" Fiona prompts, and he looks down at his own package.

"Oh. I, uh...do you think I should? I can wait until later. This time's not for me."

"Open the thing, Tommy," Andrew says. "We'll not begrudge you the time."

Tommy looks at Archie, but he nods, so Tommy goes ahead. He saw how Archie opened the wrap, so he does the same thing, then opens his letter.

> _Tommy -_
> 
> _You're an ass, you know that? Jane gave me the stinkeye for years after you left. You couldn't have left your money to her? It's probably all she wanted in the first place. The cops weren't too happy, either, despite the letters you left, but at least I never got arrested for murder, so I suppose it's all good in the end._
> 
> _Things have quieted down a bit now, anyway. Sometimes I wonder if you didn't just wander off into the night and trip into a bog, and I dreamed the whole thing. But on the off chance that I didn't, I figure it'd suck if you came back in the middle of a parking lot or something. So I put your money to good use. I'm giving you a copy so you'll know, but the real one's with the lawyers, of course._
> 
> _If you're not dead in a bog, I hope your girl appreciates you. That nowhere town is getting a hell of a man. Have a long (ha) and healthy and happy life._
> 
> _Jeff_

The package is a sheaf of papers, and he looks it over quickly at first, then more slowly. "He bought it." He looks over at Fiona. "Jeff bought this whole section of land, acres and acres."

"Our family still owns it," Shannon tells them. "We've got instructions never to develop or sell it. We'll keep it up for as long as anybody believes grandpa's stories. And mine, now." She smiles. "You may get family visitors, though."

Mr. Lundie smiles back at her. "We'll always welcome them. Will you stay for the day, lass?"

She grins. "Try and stop me."

The mood's lightened a little by the interruption, and even Archie seems more contented. Tommy understands when his letter, passed around the room, makes it over to him.

> _Dear Mr. Beaton -_
> 
> _I won't say you probably don't remember me, because it's only been a day for you, and I doubt I was that forgettable. I kind of wish I had been. I imagine Tommy's told you by now what happened to your son. Tommy's that kind of guy - honest to a fault. This fault's all on me, though._
> 
> _Anyway, I've grown a bit older since then, maybe wiser, I don't know, and I've got a kid of my own now, and I know how I'd feel if something happened to her, and I know sorry won't cut it, but for whatever it's worth, I really am sorry for what happened. For what I did._
> 
> _I thought I should send you something as an apology, but our money's not likely to do you any good, and I figured a bottle of bourbon would be in poor taste. Nothing I give will make up for what I took, anyway. I remember you did something with fabric, so I hope you can use what I am sending - it's a few different books on new weaving and sewing techniques. Things from other places you might never have heard of. The lady I asked at the shop said they'd be good for someone with old-fashioned equipment, even if she did give me an odd look._
> 
> _So if this whole damn thing wasn't just a weird dream, I hope I can bring you at least a little good. If this is Marie or Shannon or whoever reading this instead, standing on a dark, wet Scottish hill thinking I'm mad, maybe take up a hobby so they don't go to waste._
> 
> _Jeff Douglas_

Tommy shakes his head and passes the letter on to Fiona. "Archie's right. Jeff was always a better man than he'd let anyone know."

"He must have been, to have you for a good friend," Fiona says, hugging his arm and resting her head on his shoulder.

He smiles at her. "He says you'd better appreciate me, you know. I just hope you appreciate me half as much as I appreciate you."

"I love you very much. If your friend is looking down on us from Heaven, I hope he sees that." she says.

"Somehow I think he will," Tommy answers. "Our own guardian angel." Not a word he'd ever thought of for Jeff before, but now it seems to fit.

He picks up his cup and holds it out to her. "To Jeff, to Brigadoon, and to love."

She lifts her own cup to tap his. "To love."


End file.
